


and then the spell was cast

by thecryoftheseagulls



Series: Logan Hawke [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: (that's still an exaggeration but there were definitely Feelings involved from the get go), First Meetings, Love at First Sight, M/M, more like love at first mention tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 02:26:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5030077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecryoftheseagulls/pseuds/thecryoftheseagulls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Logan Hawke is already falling for the kind-hearted Fereldan healer before he even meets the man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and then the spell was cast

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lamenta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lamenta/gifts).



A Fereldan, and a healer, and a mage. This Grey Warden sounded like someone out of a fantasy, a hero of legend. It was far too good to be true. And when Lirene spoke of the way he healed without pay, looked after the downtrodden, lit a lantern in the dark, Logan Hawke could almost see him. He would have worn, chapped hands, gentle in their touches, and a smile not even Darktown could shake. The man would be dark-haired and weary, perhaps a bit rough around the edges, but still kind. Unimposing enough that the templars wouldn’t look twice at him, and he could get away with running a clinic which all the refugees knew about.

“Anders.” He repeated the name under his breath, liking the way it felt in his mouth, how he had to touch his tongue to the back of his teeth to say it. He ignored the sideways glance and the eyeroll Carver shot him.

Logan wanted to meet him more badly than he could remember wanting anything – _anyone_ \- in a long time. 

***

Outside, the Fereldans blustered, hard and desperate and angry, protective of their own. A man who could inspire such devotion was surely even better than Logan had imagined.

Maelstrom gave an affronted growl at his side, and he wondered whether it would be better to perhaps light something small on fire in order to show he had no intention of bringing the templars down on anyone. And then Carver (probably sensing as much, because he always did have an almost supernatural sense of when Logan was about to do something stupid, if only just so he could complain bitterly afterwards) stepped forward and muttered something about Fereldans looking out for each other. 

“Fereldan?” said one, narrowing his eyes suspiciously, glaring, the others muttering. 

Logan rolled his eyes and looked pointedly at his Mabari.

“Yeah, okay,” the leader conceded, maybe not as dumb then as he looked, maybe finally noticing the Fereldan accents and the way dust clung to their clothes, the way Logan’s boots were carefully mended and Carver’s trousers had big darned patches on the knees, even if they were a little bit more armored up from their time under Athenril than most of their countrymen. He mumbled something about Queen Anora and they all dispersed.

***

Logan didn’t miss anything, sharp blue eyes tracking over the way Anders – the healer, rather – stumbled back, drained, when his spell was done, the father of the injured boy who clasped his shoulder with such gratitude and concern. The clinic was bright and clean, as much as anything in the undercity could be bright and clean, and it smelled of elfroot and lye and clean linen, strong enough the cover the stench of both sewage and sickness. The people here seemed _hopeful_ , smiling even, which was a marked change from the rest of the sewers and even really from most of Lowtown.

The healer himself was nothing like Logan had imagined, tall and lean and golden, eyes that shone like hot coals in his face, made you forget the dark shadows under them. He was _young_ , not much older than Logan himself, and stunning, and fierce. He cracked jokes about Warden nightmares and talked about his cat, of all things.

“Anything,” Logan said to the requests the man made, freedom for a mage and a friend which Logan was more than happy to help with. 

“I welcome your aid,” Anders said, and when he smiled it was like the sun from behind a cloud, and Logan was already losing himself in this man’s light. 

“Maker, he’s perfect,” he whispered to Maelstrom like some lovestruck boy outside the clinic, when Carver, Varric, and Aveline were too far ahead of him to hear.


End file.
